


there are violets in your eyes

by bisexualbluesargent



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26573887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualbluesargent/pseuds/bisexualbluesargent
Summary: Tamaki had been acting strange.
Relationships: Ootori Kyouya/Suoh Tamaki
Comments: 18
Kudos: 137





	there are violets in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> cringe culture is dead and i post what i want ok
> 
> title is from lana del rey's honeymoon
> 
> tw alcohol

Tamaki had been acting strange. And Kyouya meant it when he thought it- strange, for Tamaki, was normal; Tamaki was an over-the-top, dramatic sort of man who often said the stupidest, most absurd things with no filter. When something came up with Tamaki, Kyouya always could categorize it as a fuss, or a nuisance, or an endearing annoyance. Endearing being a quality that Kyouya hated for noticing. Whatever. Tamaki was endearing to everyone. Everyone loved Tamaki. Kyouya had fallen victim to this and it was- he wasn’t going to talk about it, thank you.

Haruhi, actually, had been the one to (directly) tell Kyouya to check up on him. Kyouya and Tamaki normally saw each other the most out of all of them, these days- Kyouya because he was good at working him into his schedule and often did, even when it wasn’t easy, and Tamaki because Tamaki often put his friends at the top of his list and then everything else at the bottom. Tamaki indeed had better things to do than sit around Kyouya’s Tokyo apartment and rattle on about the twins’ and their _parties_ and their _shenanigans_ , but he liked to do it, apparently, and Kyouya always let him in the door. 

“I think it’s about you,” Haruhi had said flatly over the phone. “He won’t talk about you. He gets really weird when I mention your name.”

Kyouya sighed airily. “Who knows,” he said and Haruhi just patiently waited on the other side of the phone for him to sigh again. “Who knows what this is all about.”

“The twins couldn’t get anything out of him.” Haruhi was cooking; Kyouya could hear the clatter of utensils in the background. It was evening, already, in Japan. Kyouya stared at the late morning Spanish sunlight gliding against his window, wondering at how everything was a bit chilly, despite its presence. Haruhi dropped something. “Ugh,” she said. “Anyway, you know that they’re good at getting him to say whatever. He’s got some sort of secret. In the way that he can.” 

Kyouya looked blankly at the paperwork he had left on his kitchen table, unfinished spreadsheets and forms. He knew what she meant- Tamaki with a secret was like a toddler trying to hide the fact that he had eaten the last cookie in the jar. “Well,” he said, yawning, he’d gotten up early and his sour mood had just started to ebb away, “I’m in Europe. I’ll go visit him and see.”

“Spain, I know,” said Haruhi, and Kyouya could hear her smile, which annoyed him. “I’m looking forward to seeing you and everyone else on Friday. Honey said he wanted to bake a cake or something.”

“Don’t get too familiar, Fujioka,” Kyouya replied coolly. “Friday, I know.” Haruhi only laughed as he hung up on her.

That was the first thing about it all. That Tamaki was in his apartment in France, alone. 

Tamaki liked to stay near everyone else, which usually meant Japan- most of them hung around there the most. Haruhi did her lawyer thing, had her cases, stayed up late, rarely travelled alone; the twins liked to frequent Tokyo but also Italy, France, and so on. They went to New York for Fashion Week, sometimes. Honey and Mori were usually in Japan, too, and Kyouya went everywhere, all the time, Tamaki bringing himself along to Bali and Singapore and Cairo and then back to Tokyo. Kyouya’s family had a small house in the country, nestled in between fields and fields of green, and this was Tamaki’s favorite place they would go to, where they would sit around and read books and play the piano and they wouldn’t really say much to each other at all. Kyouya kept those days somewhere safe inside his mind to reach for when he would sometimes look at Tamaki and get the urge to be truly, truly mean.

Kyouya figured it had been something he said, the last time they had seen each other. The second thing about it all was that Kyouya had gotten quite drunk the last night they had seen each other, by accident because he had been having too much fun, for once, and gotten careless with how many glasses he had let Kaoru hand him. The twins liked to play a game where they would get one of the group drunk, just to see what they would do, but, actually, that person was always Kyouya and it wasn’t much of a game so much as something the twins liked to torment him with. 

Kyouya wasn’t a lightweight but he couldn’t handle a _ton_ of liquor, either, so he had forgotten most of the second half of the night. The things he could remember were not ideal: Tamaki and him, alone in a far-off, Hitachiin manor bedroom, and a moment where he had thrown up into the toilet of the nearest bathroom, Tamaki hovering worriedly over him. Kyouya was actually very afraid of what he had said, now that he thought of it. Tamaki still texted him every waking hour of the day but something was- off. Like the morning after their bi-weekly get-together, when Kyouya had put his hand on Tamaki’s shoulder, lightly, a friendly move that he had done many times before, probably, just to get Tamaki out of the goddamn way, and Tamaki had shuddered all over, flushed. Kyouya had given him a curious look and Tamaki had stuttered out too many apologies, strained and awkward, and Kyouya had just pinned it as some new weird Tamaki thing that he didn’t want to unpack. 

France was far from Japan. Tamaki was far from Japan, and far from all of them, and it was making all of them nervous, if Haruhi had asked Kyouya to go speak to him. Kyouya frowned at his reflection as he went to wash his face off with cool water. His fault, for losing control the other night. Kyouya rarely got drunk, he didn’t like the feeling of not calculating everything he was going to say. He was a vault of hidden secrets and familial issues that probably would come spilling out the moment he let them. 

_What line did I cross,_ thought Kyouya, annoyed at all this concern and anxiety rising up in him. Tamaki didn’t really have lines to cross. Tamaki always took Kyouya’s teasing and insults in stride. He always thought they were very funny. He’d look at Kyouya, eyes amused, and say, _oh, Kyouya, you’re so mean_ , and Kyouya would preen, just a little. He liked being mean to Tamaki. 

Kyouya felt himself blush, faintly, as he thought this, shampooing his hair with the scentless products the hotel had provided. _Not tonight, not tonight,_ he thought, lips downturned. He had a Skype meeting with a business partner in half an hour, and it was very important, and he really didn’t need to have a hard-on in the shower while thinking about- 

Kyouya took himself in hand, almost annoyed. At least it was quick.

—

Tamaki’s apartment was vast, for one in the middle of Paris with a sweeping view of the Eiffel Tower. It was extremely cliche, everything about it, and Kyouya hated Paris but Tamaki’s apartment was the type of thing that movie set designers would create to encourage tourism, which meant it was lovely and a bit too much and everything about its owner was stamped all over it, from the furniture to the location to the food in the pantry, and what else was Kyouya to do, then, except love it?

When they ate on the balcony, they sat on iron chairs with curling designs and with shining glasses full of orange juice and lovely vases full of fresh flowers that Tamaki had gone skipping down the street to purchase from a rude old man that stationed himself there. The man always made fun of Kyouya’s glasses and Kyouya’s French and Kyouya’s everything else. Kyouya didn’t usually get annoyed at these sorts of things, old people liked to be rude for sport, he understood that was their _thing_ , but he always bristled and Tamaki always laughed at him, on his way to a giggle, and Kyouya would have to stand there and decidedly not blush as he paid for a bouquet of roses. 

Tamaki’s design sensibilities always made Kyouya faintly sad, however, because they echoed the old French stylings of their high school, like Tamaki missed it, like he was trying to recreate it, that golden light, the pink walls, the spiraling staircases. Tamaki had shown Kyouya the windows he’d had installed, large and almost too much; Kyouya had smiled fondly then, but he hadn’t yet had to imagine Tamaki alone, with only glass on his every side and even above him, part of an almost-campy chandelier that he hired someone to dust off every so often. Tamaki was rarely in that apartment without Kyouya. They drank tea and Tamaki played his nice, expensive electric piano, jazzy stuff that he’d found online. Tamaki didn’t have a television, only shelves of used books, and even Haruhi had been surprised, seeing it. Haruhi had a television. 

“Well, you’re an old soul,” Haruhi had said, even as Tamaki opened his phone to play Candy Crush, which was past its prime, Kyouya thought, frowning at Haruhi in tandem with the twins.

Kyouya remembered that day, again, stepping quickly into the building’s lobby. Tamaki had given up on Haruhi in a romantic sense, and this had involved a long-winded and dramatic group-wide conflict that had lasted most of the last year, but Kyouya didn’t trust it, saw the way his eyes lit up when she laughed at something he said. Tamaki looked like that when any of them laughed, but again, Kyouya just didn’t trust it. 

_good luck with tono,_ Kaoru texted him, and Kyouya locked his phone, displeased. You couldn’t use the elevator until someone let you in with the buzzer, unless the man at the lobby desk knew you. Kyouya knew that the man knew him but he didn’t want to make conversation and the man always pretended not to remember him, so he pressed the buzzer. He wasn’t in France to be popular, evidently.

Tamaki’s voice rang out from the buzzer speaker, beautiful and overexcited even through the static. “Kyouya!” The elevator door opened. Kyouya had texted him that he was coming. Tamaki, even through the haze of weirdness, had been happy to make the plans. He was always so happy to see Kyouya, and it made Kyouya feel undeserving, somehow.

“Mon ami,” said Tamaki, opening his apartment door before Kyouya could even knock, and he had his arms around him, Kyouya breathing in a little sharply. Tamaki had gotten a few inches taller through high school and college, and now Kyouya had to tilt his head up just slightly to look him in the eye, a small detail he didn’t like very much.

“Suoh,” he said, giving him a pursed smile, which Tamaki received gladly, laughing and leading him to the kitchen area, where he poured him a glass of water as Kyouya pried himself away from his embraces to put his bags in Tamaki’s room. Kyouya always slept on Tamaki’s couch. Tamaki had always offered to give Kyouya the bed. There were a lot of things left unsaid in Kyouya’s refusal to do so, he thought.

It was late. It was always late, when things between them got strange. Kyouya narrowed his eyes at the streets below; Tamaki hadn’t closed the curtains yet and the city was blinking up at them, cars pushing and pulling against the street and stars above just trying to get a piece of it.

“What brings you here, then,” said Tamaki, conversational, sitting on a dining chair, all casual, and chewing at the last of a biscotto, the wrapper on the table and a cup of coffee half drunk sitting placidly to it. There were many things that were not right about this setup: Tamaki never asked why Kyouya had come to see him, he never was truly casual, and he never drank coffee. He drank hot chocolate and over-sweetened tea. Kyouya studied him for a long while.

Tamaki squirmed under his gaze. “Why are you being weird?”

“ _I’m_ being weird?” Kyouya said, raising an eyebrow at him and then taking a long gulp of water.

“What’s wrong?” frowned Tamaki, voice too formal, and Kyouya was probably the only one who got to hear him use that tone this often, and usually it excited him, but.

“Well,” said Kyouya, nonchalant, “where shall we begin? Everyone told me to come see what was going on with you.” Tamaki blinked at him. “And you know that I know that something’s going on.”

“Kyouya-“ Tamaki seemed so nervous. Kyouya waved him off.

“No, come on, Tamaki, it’s me, just tell me what it is. Did I say something when I was drunk? I _am_ an asshole, from time to time, and I’m ready to properly apologize.” 

Tamaki was fumbling around for words. Kyouya gave him a bored look.

“No, you didn’t, it’s okay, really,” said Tamaki, hard smile. 

Kyouya darted his eyes around Tamaki’s figure, the only light on being in the kitchen, making everything dim, laughter somehow reaching them up in their apartment from the street below. Saturday night, everyone was out, and Tamaki was in here, with him. Kyouya suddenly realized that Tamaki would never go out there, with strangers- Tamaki didn’t really have close friends, outside of their group. Not that any of them really did, but. Everyone pegged Tamaki as such a social, friendly thing. 

Tamaki had his hair up in a lopsided, messy bun, which normally Kyouya would have laughed at but right now it was making him nervous, Tamaki in loungewear, sweatpants with a small stain on it that Kyouya remembered being created months ago as Tamaki had tried to splash him and Haruhi with sauce while cooking. Haruhi and Tamaki had culinary skills in common. Kyouya, on the other hand, could not, for the life of him, advance past making pasta. 

Kyouya closed his eyes slowly, annoyed all at once. “Well,” he said. “Well. If you’re not going to tell me, I suppose I’ll get ready for bed.”

“Kyouya,” said Tamaki, tired, and Kyouya darted him a glance, running a hand through his hair, Tamaki watching it so closely that he felt it. 

Kyouya narrowed his eyes. “Tamaki.”

Tamaki’s expression was wide, almost scared. “You told me not to talk about it.”

Kyouya startled a bit. “Really.” He was uncomfortable, looking at this drunk self as a different person with different intentions entirely.

“I just don’t want to upset you,” said Tamaki, running a finger along the rim of his glass moodily.

Kyouya avoided looking at the movement. “All right. Let me take a shower first and then we can sit down and really talk.”

“So professional,” said Tamaki, pouting at him with a half smile, all teasing. “Whatever you’d like.”

Kyouya felt his face heat up. Everything about Tamaki was attractive, easy, lovely. Everyone noticed this, Kyouya wasn’t special. “What I’d _like_ is a nice dinner.”

“Yes, honey,” said Tamaki, mocking, probably thinking nothing of it, the sort of thing he’d picked up from the twins over the years, and Kyouya turned away from the thick silence threatening to spread out between them so that Tamaki wouldn’t see his frightened expression, betraying all he wanted. Kyouya always had so much _control._ He was always behind several walls of emotion when talking to anyone. The rest of their friend group, they always managed to get past one or two. Tamaki had burrowed somewhere even he didn’t know.

Kyouya all but ran to Tamaki’s room, sparing a glance at Tamaki’s ruffled, pretty bedsheets, at the photos tacked up around his vanity. Tamaki had a vanity, yes. And he put up those pictures every time he went anywhere, a methodical, routinely process Kyouya had watched many times, amused. Kyouya found his towel, but then, as he entered the bathroom, remembered that Tamaki always had one for him to use. Tamaki also had his favorite brand of shampoo and conditioner. Kyouya actually used the same brand of body wash as Tamaki. He- he liked the smell of it.

Kyouya stared at himself in the mirror, undressing and nervous. He thought of all the things he could’ve said, and didn’t like the prospects. Not something mean, then. A declaration of fear over his future? Over his father? His admiration of his friends? These weren’t things Tamaki would get weird about, though. The only option left was obvious.

Kyouya cursed into the spray of water. He’d probably gone and told Tamaki about his feelings for him. Had probably said it in his cruel, angry way that came out when Tamaki wouldn’t let go of something. He’d been planning on keeping it hidden for the rest of his life, but then the whole Haruhi-rejecting-Tamaki thing had surprised him, left him clawing for a sense of normalcy _._ He thought he knew them well. He had thought that the two of them were going to get married or something. He had been fine with Tamaki and his sideways glances and his beautiful jawline and the two of them, from time to time, past the rice fields and among the flowers in rural Japan, Tamaki playing Satie and Bach with a quiet, humble flourish of his fingers, using an older model of piano with worn out keys they had had brought in from an antique shop in Nice, Kyouya smiling the whole time, humming melodies with Tamaki and Tamaki breaking out into full-on belting as they made cookies together and Kyouya left all his phone calls and schedules behind to watch the sunset on the porch, listening to Tamaki talk about his animal shelters and his animal conservation projects and his mother, sometimes, in a low, caring voice that left Kyouya wanting to cry.

_Now it’s all ruined_ , Kyouya thought, feeling acidic and afraid, punching at the tiles of the shower, wanting to yell. _I should call Haruhi,_ he thought, then he thought about how nonsensical that was and got even more angry. He spent the rest of the time thinking about the stocks he was going to buy from a fitness company tomorrow. He laid out the numbers in his head like old friends. Calculated percentages as he used Tamaki’s fancy facial moisturizer on his face after drying it off. And then, as he walked drearily back into Tamaki’s room to find something to wear, he decided he would have to cut his losses and just tell him directly, how he felt. They could talk through it, he could imagine it now, Tamaki’s kind voice, his kinder rejection, making sure Kyouya knew they were still the best of friends and that he would find someone deserving, someday, of this unrequited love. It all made sense, now, why Tamaki had been so upset. Kyouya probably had revealed his feelings, and Tamaki knew Kyouya better than anyone ever had, and he knew that this rejection of these feelings would tear him apart. But he would have to cope, wouldn’t he. It would be all right.

Kyouya sat at the dining table, quiet in his oversized knit sweater. A gift from Tamaki, hilariously. France was reaching its fingers to autumn, the breeze skewed toward unkind, and Tamaki probably would need to turn the heater on soon, the air rushing in through all these windows. He watched Tamaki dump penne into a strainer, watched him pour sauce all over the pasta after. His slow movements, his forever sort of grace. Kyouya was not the type to swoon, of course, but he was doing it, in his own way, leaning on his hand and looking on at Tamaki with the most unimpressed expression he could muster.

Tamaki was arranging their plates, an unneeded deed but cute nonetheless, and Kyouya prepared a small, weary smile as he said, then, “I’m in love with you.”

Tamaki dropped the plate of food on the ground. “Merde,” he breathed, seeming more surprised than anything, and Kyouya simply looked at him, not getting up to help because his heart was pounding and he felt pretty bad about this whole thing, actually, and he didn’t trust himself not to say something terrible.

Tamaki just stared at the food and then at Kyouya. “Kyouya,” he said, and Kyouya knew Tamaki liked to draw things out, for the fun of it, and that this was leading somewhere but Kyouya was not like Tamaki and so he said, “Get on with it.”

“What?” Tamaki was walking over to Kyouya, careful not to step in sauce - the plate hadn’t shattered, luckily, it was less fancy than some of Tamaki’s other dishware - and Kyouya didn’t want him anywhere near him, damn it. His eyes were so bright in the low light, attentive and too caring, and Kyouya didn’t like how open Tamaki was, how ready he was to give up everything for anyone, ever, if they said the right thing. And Tamaki always acted like Kyouya was saying the exact right thing. Dark shades of purple and blue in his eyes and Kyouya didn’t want him within reach of his arms, because he would want to do something, all feeling and no plan, and he would ruin it even further, the both of them, all of this.

“Just say it,” Kyouya gritted out, suddenly so tired, rubbing his eyes. Tamaki needed someone that wasn’t him. He couldn’t imagine this other someone. Tamaki could have anyone and yet he had refused every hand that had come his way in offering. Kyouya would have to make it happen. He would go through his list of suitable candidates that his father had created (a lovely conversation, that had been) and find someone absolutely perfect for Tamaki. Kyouya didn’t want anyone else, either, but he was good at fixing things and making plans and so he would plan out Tamaki’s perfect life with enough room for Kyouya to slide in from time to time and sleep on his couch. 

“Say what,” said Tamaki, voice so sweet and staring at Kyouya from where he was standing on the floor, just a few feet away. Always just a few feet away, a few inches, a millimeter. 

“Don’t beat around the bush.” A beat. “You don’t love me back. Let’s get this over with.”

Tamaki’s face went through a slideshow of about ten different expressions before it settled on something like confusion. “And what, Kyouya Ootori, have I done to make you think that I don’t love you?”

He looked so hurt. He looked sad, in fact. Kyouya frowned at him. _Stupid fool,_ he thought. “I don’t mean as a friend, Tamaki. I mean romantically.”

Tamaki tilted his head. “Oh, Kyouya,” he said, walking towards him, and then he reached out to lightly cup Kyouya’s chin with his hand. Kyouya jumped up immediately, furious, seething. Tamaki only smiled at him, now. “And you say I’m the stupid one, ha.”

“What,” said Kyouya, banging his fist on the table. Tamaki only watched him with amusement, backing away with hands up in mock surrender, his fingers leaving what Kyouya felt was a lasting imprint on his face, what was _that-_ “Please be clear with me. I’m not in the mood for your poetic fanciful bullshit-“

“Do you know what you’re like, when you’re that drunk?” Tamaki’s expression was like honey, thick and warm.

“What am I like,” said Kyouya, coming over to shove him lightly. He was very annoyed.

“You get meaner,” he said, and Kyouya expected that, but then: “And you flirt with me, a lot. Like, a lot.”

Kyouya opened his mouth and closed it and then shut his eyes as hard as he could, wanting to scream. “Do I.” He thought about the only other time he had also gotten that intoxicated, months ago, and how the twins’ efforts to get him drunk had only started after. He was mortified. He was going to give them _all_ a talking-to.

Tamaki continued, something in his voice that always crept in when he started to get excited, when he thought he had an audience. “Yes, you do. And not your usual flirting-“ _what- “_ but more, uh, explicit. Not in the R-rated sense!” he added nervously, after laughing at Kyouya’s look. “No! I just mean that the others notice. Now, I’m not the type to tease-“

Kyouya slid him a dark, ugly look, chest threatening to start heaving. “But aren’t you?”

“No, I mean, well, yes, but I’m not the twins, Kyouya, and I honestly thought it was part of the whole mean thing, like, here’s another thing to get at Tamaki with, it didn’t seem too out of the ordinary for you. So I thought you were just having your Kyouya-type-of-fun in your drunk little way.” He waited for Kyouya to say something. Kyouya just glared. Tamaki huffed and went on. “Anyway. Yes. So then the other night, you pulled me into this empty room, and you sat me down and shook me with your hands, and don’t shoot the messenger, Kyouya, I know you hate vulnerability-“ 

“God, shut the fuck up,” said Kyouya, slumping into his chair again. “I get it, we don’t have to-“

Tamaki continued happily, “And then you tried to kiss me, which I didn’t let you do, okay, and I tried asking you questions but you kept telling me to shut up and then you said your stomach felt bad and you went to throw up. And then you told me not to mention this in the morning and I felt quite guilty about it because you obviously weren’t meaning to do any of that.” He was babbling now. “And we can keep doing this, Kyouya, this in-between thing, but it’s not what I _want.”_ Tamaki met Kyouya’s eyes. “It’s not what you want.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” said Kyouya, uncertain but his voice was all monotone. Tamaki was looking at him expectantly. Kyouya sighed. “Go on, then, Suoh. Tell me how you fucking feel.” And maybe- maybe-

Tamaki looked at him. “Kyouya,” he said, voice rough. He walked over, again, to lean down and ghost his breath over Kyouya’s face. “I don’t even have to say it, do I?” He kissed his cheek, light and delicate, and Kyouya couldn’t help but actually shake, now, shut his eyes, despite the theatricality of it all.

“You don’t still want Haruhi?” Kyouya wanted a lot of things, right then, but he didn’t open his eyes.

“No, Kyouya,” said Tamaki, leaning down to nuzzle his face into Kyouya’s neck. 

Kyouya let out breath after breath, hot and slow, he was _nervous,_ and he never got nervous, he wasn’t the type. “You could have anyone else.”

“No,” said Tamaki, mouthing lightly at Kyouya’s ear. “No one else.”

Kyouya felt his lips twitch. “I’d like to hear you say it.”

Tamaki’s expression was hooded, knowing, and he was happy to oblige, mouth still near Kyouya’s ear, Kyouya could feel every syllable in every part of his body. “I love you, darling.”

“Darling,” repeated Kyouya faintly, and Tamaki moved back slightly to meet his eyes.

“Too much?” he whispered, but he didn’t seem nervous at all.

“No,” said Kyouya, pulling Tamaki into his lap. “You’re the bane of my life in every other sense.”

“Is that so,” said Tamaki, sucking at the skin of his neck, still so quietly amused, still so delicate, and it was annoying, because Kyouya had imagined pushing Tamaki into the wall until he begged, but here they were, one light still on in the kitchen and the pasta Tamaki had made all over the floor. Kyouya pulled Tamaki in to kiss him, and there it was- the nudging of their noses, the pleased hum Tamaki made that made Kyouya go clumsy and heavy in his mouth. The whine Tamaki made when Kyouya sucked on his lip. It had been too long, this waiting, years and years of pining because Kyouya was good at keeping quiet where Tamaki was loud, brash, and unaware of himself. Kyouya was impatient where Tamaki wanted to go slow, pressing up against him and kissing every inch of his neck. 

“Cute,” said Kyouya, glasses askew, but he couldn’t fix them in this position.

Tamaki grinned. “Yes, I am.” Kyouya felt desire, pooling below- he’d been hard since Tamaki had cupped his chin in his hand, earlier. “You know,” said Tamaki, and there was a gasp from Kyouya as he shifted in his lap, the friction too much, “I always had a feeling that you wanted me.”

“Figures,” said Kyouya, relieved but also extremely irritated. “Well, we could’ve been together all this time, Tamaki.”

“I wanted to be sure!”

“Dumbass,” said Kyouya. “You’re supposed to be the impulsive one. I figured you would reciprocate if you wanted to.”

“Oh, whatever.” Tamaki murmured against his skin. “I did think about it all the time, though.” Kyouya bit his lip, his heart pounding. “The two of us.”

“Lying doesn’t become you,” said Kyouya, because he liked the chase, the games they played.

“No, but I did,” insisted Tamaki, also willing to humor him, wide smile. “And everything becomes me, Kyouya.”

“Get yourself out,” said Kyouya, suddenly, and Tamaki looked at him, wide-eyed, getting up slightly to do it, to lower his pants down, reveal his cock, no underwear. 

Kyouya just looked at him, and Tamaki shuddered. “This for me?” Kyouya said, voice teasing, so nice, and Tamaki was just nodding slightly, saying _yes,_ under his breath. 

Kyouya felt his smile stretch out, familiar and cruel, but Tamaki just said, breathless, “There you are,” and Kyouya took his cock in his hand, going as slow as he could, because it seemed that Tamaki wanted it like that. And anyway, Kyouya felt satisfied, watching Tamaki move around and fuck his hand, hearing him groan loudly as he thumbed at his slit.

He swirled his finger around Tamaki’s head. “Baby,” he said, lowly, because he always thought Tamaki would like that sort of thing, and of course he did, leaning forward with a whine to drool all over Kyouya’s shoulder. 

Tamaki keened, and Kyouya touched his balls lightly, ideas swirling through his head, but Tamaki purred into his ear, saying, “I love that you always know what you want,” and Kyouya blinked at him, surprised- he hadn’t thought about Tamaki like- but he should’ve known-

“Oh,” said Tamaki, getting riled up, Kyouya saw it, “what was that look?” Tamaki was grinning, and Kyouya loved when Tamaki got mischievous, it was so rare and only really for the people close to him and that drove Kyouya crazy. Tamaki rutted into Kyouya’s hand, slowly, looking up at him through his eyelashes. Tamaki was great with people, and he always knew what everyone needed. This was why the host club had been so successful, in Kyouya’s opinion: Tamaki was everything you wanted. Kyouya had fallen for it, kicking and screaming, and then seen that Tamaki truly wasn’t putting on an act, he was just that earnest, that kind, that _annoying._

He was a stupid, stupid man who Kyouya couldn’t imagine letting go of, and he didn’t, even though it would make everything much, much easier, but Kyouya wasn’t in love with effortless, not really, unless it was Tamaki’s hair and he was brushing it out of his face, unless it was Tamaki’s small sounds as Kyouya played with his nipple, unless it was Tamaki’s slightly-superior smile as he told him he wanted it. With everything else, Kyouya wanted a challenge. Tamaki was not everything else.

“I want your mouth,” said Tamaki, smug, and Kyouya pressed his lips together as his cock jumped a little in his pants. 

“Oh, you do, huh,” said Kyouya, but his breath hitched as Tamaki put his hand over Kyouya’s on his cock, slick, sliding all over with him.

“Or maybe you want to fuck me?” Tamaki said innocently, all a show. “Take me back to the bedroom and finger me?” He kissed Kyouya, their teeth clashing for a short moment. “Or maybe you want me to…” He played with Kyouya’s waistband. “You know.”

Kyouya arched into Tamaki’s hand, palm on his dick. “You sure seem to have a lot of thoughts in that tiny brain of yours.”

“Hm,” said Tamaki, squeezing his cock lightly. Kyouya threw his head back, everything too much already. “You’re so beautiful, Kyouya.”

Kyouya pushed into his hand. “Please,” he said, voice gravelly, rough, and he’d never heard himself like that.

“You know that, don’t you,” said Tamaki, smiling, running a finger down Kyouya’s cock, still through the fabric- “You’re just lovely.” He was using that voice that he always did, the one that made the girls in high school swoon and blush and get embarrassed. Kyouya was just the same as all of them. He didn’t mind- he’d won in the end, hadn’t he? He tried to catch his breath but Tamaki was leaning down to mouth at his trousers. There was too much material between his tongue and Kyouya’s cock, but the heat of it, he could feel it. It was overwhelming. Kyouya felt like he might cum soon, too quick and without much at all, but he wanted it _badly._

“Oh,” said Kyouya, “remind me again, won’t you.” He had his hands in Tamaki’s hair, pulling lightly. Tamaki leaned into it, pleased, eyes dancing.

“You’re so good, Kyouya,” said Tamaki, in Kyouya’s ear. “Just incredible.” Kyouya let out a broken, low groan, and Tamaki did too, when he heard it, tongue flicking at Kyouya’s neck, 

Tamaki was pulling off Kyouya’s pants. “I’m going to put my mouth on you, okay?” Tamaki said, just to be courteous, probably thinking Kyouya would like it, and Kyouya did, he really fucking did, losing all sense of self just _imagining_ it.

“Please,” said Kyouya again, and Tamaki gave him a dazzling smile, wavering in between kindness and smugness, leaning down and slowly enveloping Kyouya’s cock with his mouth. 

“Unnh,” said Kyouya, usually more articulate than this, but Tamaki was swirling his tongue around the head of his dick, hand pawing at his ass, and Kyouya pushed into his mouth, and Tamaki just hummed, which made Kyouya cum, then, lasting all but a minute in total.

Tamaki wiped at his mouth. Kyouya watched him, vision hazy, as he rutted his against Kyouya’s thigh.

“I can help,” said Kyouya lightly, reaching for him.

“I’d love for you to watch me,” said Tamaki, cocky but polite, and Kyouya felt red hot, putting his hands back where they were, watching Tamaki’s dick slide over his thigh, Tamaki making high, lovely sounds and then cumming all over him. 

“Well,” said Tamaki after a while of kissing, “we should clean up my awful pasta mess,” and he said it pouting, like he was hoping Kyouya would call someone in the middle of the night to come and wipe mushroom marinara off the ground, which he wasn’t going to do. Probably.

“We?” said Kyouya, and Tamaki swatted at him, frowning playfully.

“You’ll sleep in my room this time, won’t you?” said Tamaki after a minute, like he’d been thinking about this, specifically. “With me?”

Kyouya looked at him. “Where else would I go?”

— 

Kyouya and Tamaki arrived at Haruhi’s apartment together. And Kyouya would have thought that everyone would’ve politely not commented about it, but instead the twins cackled at him, Hikaru ruffling his hair, saying, “Kyouya and Tamaki kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-“ but Tamaki lunged at him and didn’t let him finish.

Tamaki gave Kyouya a kiss after he took his coat and set off to put it somewhere, intimately familiar with Haruhi’s place, something he shared in common with Kyouya. Haruhi watched this exchange, amused, as the twins laughed more and more and started telling Honey and Mori about that day months ago when they had left early and missed how Kyouya had told Tamaki how hot he looked in his casual blue jeans because he had drunk too much sake. 

“You look happy,” said Haruhi, smiling at him as he tried to kill them with his stare alone.

“Whatever you say, Fujioka,” Kyouya replied haughtily, glaring at her, and she laughed at him, patting at his shoulder in camaraderie.

“I made red velvet cake,” said Honey, when they were barely sitting down to eat curry and rice that Haruhi had made, cramped in the smaller space, but Kyouya thought it was cozy. He wasn’t the type to romanticize the lack of wealth, but, well, it was a nice apartment, and the night was nestling up to the windows, dark and chilly and it was great, being in here, sheltered from the cold with his closest friends, Tamaki leaning over him to try and take his napkin back from Hikaru, who was laughing maniacally, like they were back in school and they were going to try and get a real rise out of him.

“Red velvet’s our favorite,” said Kaoru, high-fiving Hikaru in between Tamaki’s yelps.

“I helped,” said Mori, who Haruhi then high-fived with an approving look. Tamaki looked sad that no one was high-fiving him, so Hikaru reached out with the palm of his hand, inviting him to do so, but pulled it back at the last second, faking him out.

“I’d like to discuss this little development,” said Hikaru, after the conversation had lulled and he was chewing on the last of his food, “between Tamaki and Kyouya.”

Kyouya slid him a bored look. “Oh, do go on, Hitachiin Number Two.”

“Number two!” barked Hikaru indignantly, giving him a middle finger.

“I’m kind of curious, actually,” said Haruhi, apparently ignoring this exchange.

“Well,” said Tamaki, obviously ready to launch into a story, and Kyouya didn’t trust him not to leave out certain details, so he cut in with-

“We’re together. The rest is none of your business.” He tilted his chin up and passed Honey the pitcher of water.

Kaoru seemed unfazed. “It was probably super romantic and cheesy, I’m like, picturing Kyouya coming into the Paris apartment like, _oh, Tamaki_ -“ he made a sweeping gesture with his arms, adapting a lovesick, forlorn expression, Hikaru snickering.

“I wonder when you’re all going to start acting like adults,” muttered Kyouya bitterly, when Haruhi started to laugh at Hikaru’s impression of Kyouya’s voice. Tamaki was trying to cut in, too easily invested and defensive, and Honey and Mori got up to get the cake out of the oven where it was being kept warm, and honestly, Kyouya couldn’t be that mad, but he had to act like it, for appearances and all that.

“Hopefully never,” said Honey, smiling at him as he pushed his chair into the table, and Kyouya frowned at Mori, who winked.

“I have a house in the country,” said Kyouya, abruptly, and everyone looked at him, suddenly, a funny tableau, a dinner scene out of a TV show. “I was wondering if you’d all like to go, sometime.” Tamaki leapt up with him in his arms, thrilled and beaming, and it was just like that first day, when he’d called him his best friend and almost squeezed the life out of him. 


End file.
